Silence
by idkslytherin
Summary: "I can't hear anything, Malfoy." she cried, her hands trembling "For months, there has been nothing except silence, just disgusting, hollow silence. I can't even remember what your voice sounds like..." Hermione lost her hearing during the final battle, and Draco lost everything after it. But through loss and desperation, they find their way back to each other. [slow burning]
1. Prologue

-Prologue-

Whilst roaming around the hallways during the final battle at Hogwarts, Death Eaters find Hermione, who immediately recognise her as the mudblood witch. Following the Dark Lord's orders, they relentlessly attack her with a mixture of powerful, dark spells. She felt all the curses hit her, awakening in her the sensation of dozens of knives stabbing her, as her skin burned, making her release loud screams and moans of colossal pain.

No longer able to defend herself against such powerful dark magic, she collapses on the cold floor, hitting her head on the tiles, a trail of blood pouring slowly out her ears. Despite miraculously waking up, Hermione doesn't leave the battle untouched, as those daunting ruthless attacks against her lead to irreversible damage.

—

Hermione wakes up many hours later in the Great Hall, amongst all the other injured and lifeless bodies, laid down on a sheet, as she was presumed dead when she first arrived, carried by a prefect on patrol duty. Her eyes painfully flutter open. She couldn't remember what had happened to her, all she could feel was the overwhelming pain that covered her entire torso. After blinking a few times, her vision became clearer, and she noticed her familiar surroundings. What was she doing there?

Oddly, total silence filled the room, which made Hermione wonder if maybe she was dreaming, or even if she was alive at all. It was _impossibly_ quiet in there. She slowly tried to sit, and her body reminded her of how horribly she felt. Looking around, Hermione noticed in confusion that every one around her had their mouths open, agony in their expressions, and tears pouring out their eyes.

People were screaming, crying, and mourning all their losses aloud. So why couldn't she hear it? Then, her devastated self welcomed a sense of numbness, when she horrifyingly understood: she was deaf, completely deaf.

Her chest tightened with pain, intensified with the shock that covered every inch of her already fragile body. She screamed, or at least she thought she did. Her lips and throat were dry, as desperation spread mercilessly through her. People turned to her suddenly. They heard. She really did scream. Her head was throbbing with pain, unable to process what was happening to her.

Hermione eyed Padma Patil in one of the corners next to her, covering an assumedly dead body with a white sheet, and instinctively tried to call her:

"Padma! Please help me!" she said, probably screaming, tears finally running down her cut, bruised face.

Padma ran to her as soon as she heard those desperate yelps, kneeling down next to Hermione.

"Hermione? Thank God you're alive!" Padma hugged her, and Hermione couldn't help but cry, as she didn't understand what she was mouthing to her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm deaf!" Hermione cried out, looking her friend in the eye "I can't hear anything! The death eaters… They tortured me…I can't hear anything..."

Padma stared at her blankly, watching Hermione cry like she had never seen her do before, her own breathing accelerated, unsure of what to do. She thought to call Professor Trelawney, but she was much busier, walking around the Great Hall, crying her own tears as she made a list of those who had perished. Padma continued to hug Hermione, thinking if there was anyway she could magically cure her friend. But surely enough, deafness caused by magic, was deafness uncured by magic.

"Are you saying anything?" Hermione whispered, pain distorting her thin voice.

"No." Padma shook her head, so she would understand. "I really don't know what to say." She whispered to herself, sighing.

A million thoughts raged through Hermione's head. Were Harry and Ron okay? How long had she been unconscious? Was the battle over? How many people were dead because of it? Or injured like her… She couldn't even imagine what was happening, the chaos that was engulfing Hogwarts, turning the once noble castle into a merciless battleground.

"Padma," she called, backing away from the tight hug "How many of us are dead?"

"Many." Hermione read her lips, as Padma spoke purposely-slower "Remus Lupin. Tonk. Lavender Brown."

Hermione continued to cry, unsure of what to say or how to react. Padma dreaded the words that were about to fall from her lips.

"Fred Weasley." She spoke with immense pain, turning her eyes to their right, where, a bit farther away, laid his lifeless body.

"No!" Hermione gasped, feeling her head spinning.

Fred Weasley. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonk. Lavender Brown. Fred _fucking_ Weasley.

Did Ron know? She thought she saw George and his all-too-kind mother crying over his twin's still, lifeless body, but it might all have been an illusion produced by an overly tired mind.

It was all too much. Hermione desired sleep. She even desired death at that moment. The seven years of fighting, seven year of losses, of pain, of darkness had taken a toll on her. She just couldn't figure out how anybody would recover from the war, if they did survive it. All her senses were all simultaneously shutting down, and she couldn't handle it anymore.

Her body started to fail her, making her fall on her back, as she lost the ability to breathe properly. Her eyes closed slowly. She could feel Padma's hands immersed in her knotted hair, probably trying to hold on to her and help her stay calm, but how could she? Hermione just didn't have the strength to go on. And like many others, on that miserable, haunting day, she really did think she wasn't going to make it, her soul and body falling into a state of immense nothingness.

a/n: This is my first HP/Dramione fanfiction so excuse any future trivial mistakes... Anyway, I hope you like it and review, tell me what you think!

Also, this fanfiction will also be on Wattpad, under the same title and the same username, so if that's something that interests you, go check it out!

Rita x


	2. Chapter 1: Consequences

**hapter 1: Consequences.**

Hermione awakened with cold sweat dripping down her forehead. Her heart was raging uncontrollably, her trembling hand resting over her chest. Her eyes shifted to the window on her right, and she noticed that the autumnal dawn was just beginning to creep up. The sky was dotted with grey clouds, though a purple taint could suddenly be noticed as the minutes went by. Hermione couldn't help but stare at the wondrous view.

Every morning she would awaken before the sun rose, despite all her best efforts to sleep in. Ever since the war, nightmares taunted her brain, vigorously and repetitively, making her nights miserable with a short-lived sleep. A new dawn was the only sure way to calm her down, to help her remember it was all over. Her stare remained focused on the world in front of her, making her heart slow down noticeably, which relieved the pounding pain in her head. Wind was hushing, making the dense trees dance slightly, and birds were carelessly flying by, wings wide open as they drifted across the open sky.

 _How she missed the sound of the wind, how she missed hearing birds chirping_.

—

It was the end of September, almost five months since she had lost all her hearing. Though most things did return to normal, Hermione never felt the same again. Her existence was completely different now, silent and haunting. Time went by slowly, agonisingly so, and soon enough, she was back at Hogwarts, after spending a painful, strange summer in the company of her two best friends.

Professor McGonagall was the new headmistress, and intended for the entire prior seventh year to return and properly wrap their time at the Wizarding School. Hermione was conflicted about her return: a part of her dreaded coming back to the hollow castle, terrified of reliving memories that she was longing to forget; but another part of her was expecting for a sense of normality. Maybe the school routine would do her well; maybe it would help her feel all right again.

Yet it didn't.

Almost a month had passed since their return, and nothing inside her changed. Being a deaf witch was much greater of a challenge than Hermione first hoped for. Silent spells were harder to cast, and required practice, patience and motivation, none of which she longer did or possessed. Classes were exhausting, draining all her already low energy. It took twice as much work to study and to understand every class. The only really helpful thing professors could do was cast a charm on their quill, making it write everything they would say during classes, which meant Hermione would have much more to read than anybody else. Usually this wouldn't come as a problem for her, but lately, her tired eyes couldn't focus as well as before, and she lacked the determination to pick up her old study and reading habits.

Professor McGonagall was one of the only reasons why Hermione hadn't completely given up yet. She was a great support figure to the student, and offered tremendous help, both mentally and practically. She would tutor Hermione once a week to help her practice casting spells non-verbally, without forgetting to practice with her all the charms and spells she had always known, just to make sure she could remain as great as witch as always. Though Hermione still spoke, with was with less confidence, and quite less often. It just wasn't very rewarding to speak when you couldn't hear yourself, or anybody else for that matter. Even so, her professor would always push for her to talk, trying to help her improve her lip-reading skills as well. Hermione felt eternally in debt to Professor McGonagall, who weekly reminded her she wasn't less of a person or less of a witch because of her new disability.

Even so, times were hard. Every day was a challenge, and every day, her limits were tested.

Hermione slowly rolled out of bed, knowing she would fail to fall back asleep if she stayed wrapped in her white sheets. She turned to the bathroom and decided to take a shower, sighing with relief and relaxation as the hot water poured down her tired body. It was a Thursday, a lonesome day with only three classes: Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. She ran her hands through her thick hair; massaging her scalp to relieve some of the pressure her headache was causing her.

She glanced down at her body, now slimmer, with a few scars craved on her silky, pale skin, and sighed.

On her left arm, the most horrifying word she knew could still be seen, as no amount of magic was able to completely erase it. Mudblood. Every time she looked at it, her stomach twisted in tight knots, images flooding her overworked mind. The events of the day at the Malfoy Manor replayed themselves mercilessly in her head, again and again, bringing tears to Hermione's eyes.

Oh, the Malfoys: ruthless, cunning, but ultimately cowards. Harry had told her over the summer that, despite avoiding prison time in Askaban, the senior couple was killed in a revenge attack, not long after the war came to an end. None of them knew what had happened to Draco Malfoy though. The last Hermione had seen him was after saving him from the uncontrollable fire in the Room of Requirement. Before she could see him again, the death eaters attacked her, and by the time she recovered from her black out and the shock, nobody knew where he was. The word around was that he might be dead, just like his parents, or that he might've run away to escape his fate.

To Hermione it was all the same. Dead, alive, near or far away- she didn't care. It was all absolute bollocks. She hated him, a burning hatred, as deep as the scars that marked her body. He would always be the same cunning, sly bastard he always was: a betrayer and a fucking coward just like his hellish father. Would be a shame if he really were dead though, because that meant she could never scream in his face to tell him just how much she despised him and his insignificant life. All the darkest moments in the last years could all be traced to him and his menace, and for that, Hermione could never forgive him, even now that Voldemort was gone and peace was finally installed.

She glanced over at her arm again and released a frustrated, tearful groan. Mudblood. That's what he always called her; that was the spiteful insult he always attacked her with. Yes, Hermione was glad he was gone, maybe even dead. At least this way he didn't have the satisfaction to see just how much she had suffered because of him and because of the war.

Hermione closed the water and wrapped a towel around herself, exiting the shower with care. Her wet hair dripped down her back, as the bathroom filled up with steam, and Hermione tried to dry herself quickly, before the cold air engulfed her, sending chills down her spine. Though she could have used a drying charm to make things easier, and though Professor McGonagall would always incentive her to do so, lately Hermione had gone back to doing things the hard, muggle way. For some reason, it made her feel like the young Hermione again, the Hermione before Hogwarts, a version of her she desperately missed.

Also, because it frustrated her to no end when she couldn't pronounce the charm correctly and it wouldn't work properly. Like with almost everything else, it was taking her time to get used to this new life, and most times, much like that end of September day, she wasn't motivated nor excited about the hours of school routine that awaited her.

—

"Hermione," Harry tapped on her shoulder, mouthing something to her when she turned to him "Are-you-okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded in response "Why?"

Harry picked up his parchment and quill.

Lately all their talks had been through writing, but only when Hermione was in the mood to talk, which was rare those days. He scribbled down something quite rapidly, handing to her without Professor Slughorn noticing.

"You look really tired." He wrote, and Hermione frowned when she read the note.

"I know, I haven't been sleeping well lately." She wrote back to him.

"Maybe we can brew some dreamless sleep potion for you?"

Hermione sighed. Any other time she would refuse such help, but this time her body ached at the thought of another sleepless night; she was in no position to refuse anything.

"Maybe." She replied, sliding the quill through the rough parchment paper "Thank you."

Harry gave her a warm, genuine smile, and Hermione couldn't help but do the same; Harry always made her feel so at ease.

"How's Ron?" Hermione wrote, worried about the answer.

"Adjusting." Was all Harry replied, shrugging, his green eyes sparkling with sadness.

Hermione closed her own eyes for a few seconds. Ron was adjusting… So was she. They had both lost something essential that dreadful day: she'd lost her ability to hear, and he had lost his brother.

And those events lead to an especially challenging, fucked up summer. After a brief conversation about their kiss, the best friends quickly moved on. They both agreed it was a pointless affair to pursue, since they had much greater things to mourn and think about. The friendship was mostly still the same, just more distant. Ron didn't react well to Hermione's deafness either, which brought him to a constant state of revolt and angriness. He swore he would hunt down every last living death eater, to either kill them or help the Ministry of Magic bring them to Askaban. There was so much new found bitterness in Ron- a façade he built to hide the tremendous pain he always felt over losing Fred. Hermione and Harry thanked Merlin repeatedly when their letter from Hogwarts came and Ron could finally let go of his revenge plot.

He was actually sitting a few tables over, alone, his head resting heavily on his hand. His eyes were glazed, a bored look splattered on his pale face, with his red hair clumsily brushed. Hermione felt her insides twist. It was obvious Ron hadn't been himself lately, and she understood that feeling all too well.

"Things are just strange now, aren't they?" Hermione wrote, feeling rather stupid for asking such a silly question.

"Yes, but it'll be okay." Harry assured, giving her a smile "It takes time but everything will back to normal."

"I hope so, I hate seeing Ron like this." She sighed, glancing over at him again. Ron turned to her and made awkward eye contact until Hermione looked away, unable to deal with the strangeness of the situation.

"I hate seeing both of you like this." Harry frowned "But I have hope. There's finally peace."

Hermione felt tears well up in her brown eyes, before blinking rapidly until she no longer felt like crying. Harry was right. There was peace. They no longer had to fight for their lives, or put themselves in impossibly deadly situations. Now there was nothing left to do except live every day, waiting for every thing to hurt a little less.

—

His feet dragged silently across the empty hallway.

It was Saturday, late night, and his body ached more and more with every step he took, absolutely ready to collapse at any given moment. He was exhausted. It felt like he was walking towards his impeding doom. There was no dignity left in him, and no vitality either. He looked as if all life had been sucked out of him.

He reached a large, wooden door and his heart slowed down. Why was he doing this? Why was he there? Lifting his right hand with hesitation, he knocked three times, anxiously waiting for something to happen.

As thoughts of regret raced through his mind, the door cracked open, and suddenly, his future and greatest fears were staring him down.

"Mr. Malfoy." Professor McGonagall greeted him sternly, clearing her throat.

"Hm…" Draco hummed, unable to say anything.

The old professor had her emerald eyes aimed at him, and Malfoy felt more threatened than ever.

"It's good to know you have finally accepted my offer." The witch nodded, uncrossing her arms "Please do come in."

He swallowed hard, weakly stepping into the new Headmistress' office. Humiliation. That's all he could think about. A few months ago he would've been cursing at everything in that bloody castle, declining any help the hypocrite wizards might've offered. Every one hated him, he was sure of it. He wasn't welcomed there. But the hurtful, raw truth was that he had no other place to go. He had been running in circles for too long, with no one by his side. Loneliness, hunger, and the longing for comfort and stability spoke louder than his old need to hate all Gryffindors and the righteous professors that infested Hogwarts.

"Sit down." McGonagall demanded, and Draco obliged, quiet. "Despite everything that has happened, it is good to have you back."

Malfoy didn't reply. Her voice sounded a little too hypocritical for his taste. What could he possibly say? He was in a new, totally foreigner position, defeated and fragile. Any other time he wouldn't have sat there, listening to the old witch talk to him like he was some kind of lost little boy; he would've probably hexed her any chance he could, ignoring her, and everybody in that hellish hole…

"Mr. Malfoy." The professor called, interrupting his thoughts "Do you want to return or not?"

"I…" He stuttered, running his trembling hand through his hair "No one wants me back. You know better than anyone how unwelcomed I am here."

"Be that as it may, I do not care how others feel about you." She replied dryly "I'm giving you an opportunity to stay safe, and finish your education. If that is something you are not interested in, so be it."

"But I am not safe!" Malfoy spit out, now slightly revolted "They'll kill me the minute they see me!"

"That's certainly not my problem." McGonagall sighed, her expression rigid and unbothered. "You will have to make a decision. You've already missed almost a month of classes."

"I don't have my wand." Malfoy chewed angrily on his tongue.

"That won't be a necessary worry for now." The professor assured him.

"Why are you doing this?" Malfoy wondered, still humiliated and repulsed "We both know this isn't where I should be, or where people want me to be."

"I'm not doing this for me. And Mr. Malfoy, I'm definitely not doing this for you." McGonagall replied in a crisp voice "I'm giving you this chance because, and only because of our late Albus Dumbledore." Draco felt his skin burn. "As you know, both him and Severus sacrificed themselves for the ultimate well-being of us all, including yours. If you don't do anything with it, I might as well assume it was a mission in vain."

Draco looked down, anger bubbling inside him. How dare she bribe him with guilt? The dark side called him, evoked him, and he didn't have a choice. Eighteen years of his life were spent being convinced of an evil concept. And for most of that time, he really did believe what was being tossed at him.

He thought he was evil; knew it even.

"If you would like to show you're revolted, I suggest you rest tonight. You'll do a much greater job with it when you've recovered all your lost energy." Minerva told him.

Great, now she was mocking him. What a sodding bitch. If he hadn't felt so god damn tired, he would've gotten up and told her just that. She made him feel so fucking stupid. He knew going back was a mistake, but if he left, where would he go? Months of hiding, running from place to place, without his wand, without his parents, without any money. He was in no position to refuse anything.

"By your silence, I assume you're deciding to stay." McGonagall nodded slowly "Don't ruin this opportunity, Mr. Malfoy. The war may be over; but you will soon take notice of all the consequences that came with it."

Words failed him once more.

"You may go. Everything you need is already in the dungeons." She explained, getting up from her chair "Try and rest. The days ahead won't be easy."

Draco got up slowly, battling his body to stay awake. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, and he knew she wasn't expecting a 'thank you' from him either. It was very clear she wasn't all that glad of his return.

Walking through Hogwarts' hallways for the first time since the battle brought him a strange sensation. He felt like a ghost of himself, returning to the scene of the crime. Malfoy couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to him. He didn't want to be back, and nobody else wanted him back. It was the perfect recipe for disaster. Just imagining the glorious golden trio made him sick. They would hex him into oblivion the moment they saw him. Maybe they should; it wasn't like he didn't deserve it anyway.

He slyly entered the dungeons, the sight of green and silver making all his insides twist. He knew he was still a Slytherin, but he didn't feel like one. He didn't feel like anything really, not even human.

He crept into the dormitory, praying he wouldn't wake up anyone; praying no one would notice him. He took off his dirty white t-shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor, and slid into his old bed, right by the window.

Draco's eyes shut just as he covered himself, exhaustion catching up to him rather quickly. Bloody hell, it felt good to have a bed again, even if it was in that shitty castle.

And for a slight moment, he couldn't give less fucks about what people would say about him. They would just have to fucking deal with him, right? Especially Potter, Weasley and Granger… Shit had probably been so easy and seamless for them since Voldemort died. He was the one who'd been through hell and back. Yeah, he had no reason to fear their reactions. Actually, he couldn't wait to look at them and watch their faces twitch in horror when they realised he was back… That would probably give him a good laugh; and, for fuck's sake, he desperately needed one.


	3. Chapter 2: Alive

Chapter 2: Alive.

Unfortunately for Draco, his bitch of a Professor was right: the days that followed his return were bitter tasting.

Sunday morning escaped through his thin fingertips, as he slept till late afternoon, attempting to fix his previous almost non-existent sleep schedule. A dreamless lack of consciousness was exactly what he needed, and his body seemed to agree with him, waking up with the feeling that he had gained ten more years of life.

He calculated that by the time of day, the sky was already a burning red hue when he first awakened from his deep slumber.

It was refreshingly pleasant to not be able to see the sky though. A lot of sleepless nights under no roof tired him of the open nothingness. He already knew all the constellations that riddled the darkness by heart; he could read the sky like the palm of his hand, and knew the color of it almost any time of day without having to look. For him, it was all the same, really: boring and highly overrated.

Much to his surprise though, when his grey eyes flashed open that afternoon, Blaise's figure was hovering eerily over his bed, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips parted open.

"What the fuck!" Draco groaned, sitting up on the bed with his right arm stretched out, ready to hit his silent watcher.

"That's what I should say." Blaise huffed, making his way out of Draco's hitting range. "What the fuck are you doing back here, Malfoy?"

"I don't know what you mean." Draco cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. He decided to scoff and derail the conversation to his advantage, marking his territorial position "Why you ask? Are you _that_ scared to see me?"

"I thought you were dead!" Blaise explained, still with a doubting expression splattered across his face, whilst Draco had a smirk planted on his "Well, your parents…"

"Well, I'm not." Draco spit out dryly, condescending as always. "Obviously."

"Where have you been?" his friend asked, ignoring Draco's usual aggressive remarks.

"That's none of your fucking business." Draco barked roughly at him, making Blaise back away even further.

"Fine, don't get your panties in a twist." Blaise rolled his eyes, losing rapid interest in that interaction. "You look like bloody shit, by the way."

Malfoy blankly stared at him in response, with that deadly, evil glare only he could pull off so effortlessly. He knew he looked like shit. Anyone who'd been through what he'd been through, or starved like he did, would look undoubtedly even worse than him. It was a miracle he held on so well.

But bloody hell, he surely didn't expect that Slytherin's arrogance and sharp tongue. Had he always been like that, or had Malfoy just been away for too long? Usually Blaise would have never acted like that towards him; he was just like Crabbe and Goyle, patient and quite clearly to him, inferior.

His lip twitched when the image of Crabbe falling into the pit of blazing fire shuffled in his brain. Despite always being tough and some times unforgiving with his friends, he still cared about them; and watching one of them fall to his certain, scorching death was certainly one of the memories that scarred him the most during the final battle.

Shaking his head and dark thoughts away, he noticed Blaise walking out of the dormitory. Slimy bastard, he was. Didn't even welcome his Slytherin mate like he ought to. Ridiculous. The school was in a worse state than he first thought.

 _So_ , he realized, _this is it_.

The word was officially out: _Draco Malfoy, the arrogant, evil prick was back and ready to terrorize Hogwarts once more._

He could already imagine what would be said about him, all the nasty, false information that would spread like a wildfire through that joke of a school. Questions would be tossed at him continuously, and rumors about his absence would fly out of everyone's dirty mouth… Which meant that undressing from his protective armor was not a choice. He would have to keep his guard up, quiet and steadily, and not tell anyone about anything that happened to him. It was only his, and his heavy conscience secret to keep. Thank Merlin that he could be so vicious so naturally: came as easy as sleeping, and as of lately, came even easier than breathing.

He'd have to be nasty, like always. Unpleasant. An absolute pain to deal with. If he wanted any peace of mind at all that year, he would have to stray away from everybody else. Not that it was hard; he was lover of solitude at heart.

A final solution raced through his brain, and Draco nodded to himself when he approved of his own idea:

 _People would have to fear him in order to respect him._

And for the entirety of that hellish year, that would have to be his motto.

—

On Monday afternoon, Hermione met Professor McGonagall to resume their weekly lessons in casting silent spells.

Hermione wasn't in the headspace to work at all, since for the whole of that day she had had the intricate feeling that something wasn't right. The students around her were behaving rather strangely, always whispering or talking (she couldn't ever be sure), about _something_ , and not knowing what was driving her insane. See, she might've lost her will to study or read as spontaneously as she once did before, but her curiosity remained intact. Some times, it appeared to be enticing her more than ever, and this was definitely one of those times.

Harry had barely spoken to her on that rainy Monday, and actually seemed to be avoiding her, which Hermione found bizarre and unsettling. They had exchanged a few notes during a Charms class, but Harry was distant and had a worrying expression in his eyes, which riddled her immensely. What was bothering him? Why couldn't he just tell her what it was? She despised being kept in the dark.

And Ron… Well, she was used to Ron being distant and ill looking, but that day something else was bothering him as well. He looked angry. He was chewing on his tongue whenever she happened to glance at him, his fists tightened in a furious manner. The last she had seen him like that was during the summer, whenever he talked about capturing and torturing the last remaining death eaters… But that couldn't possibly be what was making him so heated. There were no more death eaters anywhere, right? Especially at Hogwarts… It was silly; they were safe, thankfully.

Still, it didn't sit well with Hermione. Something was wrong, or at least something was different, and she seemed to be the only who didn't know about it: it was infuriating.

"Hm… Professor…" Hermione cleared her throat, unsure. It was always so damn hard to speak now.

"Yes?" McGonagall replied slowly, putting down her wand.

"Is there something wrong?" she then asked, sitting down in her usual chair at her professor's office.

"With what, dear?" Hermione read her lips carefully, making sure to understand what was said before continuing her train of thoughts.

"People were acting quite odd today, Professor. It seems like something's changed. Did it?"

"Well…" the old witch said quietly "I suppose you will know of it when it presents itself to you."

Hermione took a few minutes to respond. _What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?_

"If everyone seems to know, why can't I?" Hermione argued, folding her arms across her chest. Impatience was flourishing in her rather quickly.

"There's more harm than good to know about it now." Her professor responded, returning to her usual rigidness.

"But…"

"Please, Miss Granger." McGonagall interrupted her "It's really best to not speak of it."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to say anything back at her. Arguing with Professor McGonagall was useless; she would always have the upper hand, and they both knew it.

The professor raised her wand once more and continued with the lesson, attempting to retain Hermione's focus, but it was quite obvious her mind was elsewhere.

"Try the _Expelliarmus_ once more please." She requested, and Hermione proceeded to demonstrate it with success, which relieved and relaxed Minerva a little more.

Usually minor victories like that would excite Hermione, as they made her feel somewhat normal again, but that afternoon, she couldn't celebrate, her brain still wrapped around the strangeness of the day she had spent.

 _Why wouldn't anyone just fucking tell her what was going on?_

—

It took Malfoy another two days before he could wander around the castle. For the beginning of the week, he only went to his Slytherin classes, and stayed in the dungeons common room for the rest of his free time. With each hour of each day, his undying hatred for Hogwarts seemed to grow more relevant.

McGonagall still hadn't given him a new wand, and he was in desperate need of one. He was a useless wizard without it. Plus it would've been great to hex all the idiotic students who dared to speak of him in such a grotesque manner.

"Death eater…"

"Evil…"

"Killer."

He had heard enough. Those who spoke of him did not know him. Yet the judgments that were made rang painfully true when he really thought about it.

And so Draco slept, as he found that sleeping was the best solution to all his problems, a profound sigh exiting his lips whenever he lied in bed. He couldn't think when he was sleeping. It was easy, unlike the rest of his life.

It wasn't until Wednesday that he decided to have dinner in the Great Hall, as nervousness was depriving him of the full course meals. He didn't really know what was making him so anxious. Maybe it was the forceful sharing of space with all the other inferior houses, or maybe it was simply being in the spotlight again. Normally, he would love and thrive on being the center of attention, but months of hiding had turned him into a nervous, paranoid wreck. He just wasn't used to people looking at him innocently now; moments of panic and solitude were all he had ever since the war ended.

Any time someone passed him on the hallways and gave him _the_ look, he felt threatened, anxiously waiting for them to take out their wands and either bring him to Askaban, or end his life mercilessly, like they did to his parents.

And that was the most annoying part: he still didn't feel safe at all. It would surely take a long time for him to be able to resist the urge to constantly look over his shoulder, or to close his eyes at night and know he would wake up the next day. He hated being that paranoid, but then again, he hated a lot of other things about himself as well.

On Wednesday night, a thunderstorm raged furiously outside the castle, colliding perfectly with Draco's rapid heartbeat. He was roaming around aimlessly, burning time until he felt secure enough to enter the Great Hall.

He was acting so impeccably foolish. He knew he had always been the single, central image of blind confidence, the epitome of futility and imprudence. He _was_ embodiment of ruthless: snide and prideful.

The Gryffindors cursed his existence, and the Slytherins celebrated it.

Or at least they used to. He was still widely popular, though for parting reasons, even through his downfall. _No press is bad press,_ he nervously constantly reminded himself.

So was it so fucking hard to just have dinner in front of everyone?

The grand doors stood now in front of him, closed and uninviting, and his head began to hurt. With a spring of courage, he pushed the doors open with great strength, making them seemingly effortlessly swing back.

Every head sitting in the Great Hall was now turned to him. Draco swallowed hard, walking slowly towards his table. Whispers darted their away across the room, and sweat started to form on his pale forehead. The air seemed thick and he found it harder to breathe once he was inside. He avoided looking around, deciding that he would look much more fearless when unbothered, and without taking others into his consideration.

No sound other than the rattling whispers could be heard, making the environment threatening and rather awkward. Each of his steps echoed loudly through the high ceiling, and he wondered if anyone could hear his heart raging as well.

Suddenly, he eyed wild, red hair. The Weasley rat was sitting rightfully at his moronic table, along with all the other Gryffindor idiots, muttering something under his breath. _How wonderful._ Right beside him rested the great Chosen one, his green eyes enlarged with surprise under his thick glasses. He had his arm on Weasley's shoulder, apparently trying to stop him from getting up. Draco felt violently nauseous. The sight of the red and gold duo made him sick to his stomach. Only one member was missing to complete that idiotic little group.

And where was Granger?

Probably in the dormitories already, studying her little arse off for a test that would only come in two months or so. He smirked at the image. _How pathetic._

He was so focused and wrapped around his own head, he didn't even see the Weasley prick coming at him in full speed, groaning in a hoarse voice.

Ron tackled him in such a beastly manner that by the time Draco realized what had happened, his body had already hit the cold ground, his back cracking loudly at the fall.

"What the fuck!" Draco cursed out, as Ron grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, putting himself on top with such force, the blonde couldn't move from underneath him.

"How dare you come back here, you piece of shit!" Ron roared, his clenched fist aimed right at Draco's porcelain face.

Time seemed to slow down noticeably for Draco the moment he realized Weasley's disgusting hand was about to hit him.

And it did hit him. Hard.

Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion. The first sloppy, angry punch hit him square in the jaw. He tried to speak; he tried to curse back at the ginger bastard, but another sharp punch came as rapidly as the first one, this time to his mouth. And then to his nose. He felt the trail of blood gushing out of his lips and nose and felt suddenly repulsed: his superior, pure blood, wasted in a fight with such an unworthy creature.

Why wasn't he fighting back?

With a dark, powerful groan, Draco overpowered his enemy, who was instantly surprised by the sudden strength. His own hands were now searching for Weasley's stupid face, as he cursed words he wouldn't remember saying in the following hours. It was his turn to cause some real damage.

"You animal!" Draco yelled, his violent temper finally creeping up to help him fight.

He was sure he hit at least Ron's mouth and nose, possibly breaking it even, who even gave a fuck at that point? Hatred was burning through his veins, and he wasn't sure if he could leave that violent encounter without viciously attacking him some more. He just wasn't satisfied yet. His wish was to crush Weasley like an irrelevant bug, and turn him into a bloody shadow of himself.

"Fucking death eater…" Ron managed to choke out, giving Draco the temptation to kill him right there with his own hands.

None of them were sure just how long it all lasted for, but suddenly a voice spoke, as powerful and strong as the thunder outside.

"Enough!" It enunciated, making both the fighters stop for a second.

Harry was now standing right by them, looking down on them with rage and repulse. Professor McGonagall was also there, making both of them unsure about who had actually spoken.

"If you do not stop this infamy right now, you will both be expelled." The disappointed professor told them a little too calmly, as if she already expected this, and with a strong push, Draco got away from his beat-up enemy.

He got up, diverging his grey eyes away from the bloody mess. His feet took a sudden hold of him, and he started to run. He wasn't exactly sure what he was running from, all he knew is that he couldn't stand there for another second, even if his life depended on it.

He wasn't afraid to be expelled tough, and he definitely wasn't ashamed to have been in that satisfying fight with the read headed prick in any way, so why was he running?

"Fucking coward!" Ron shouted as his pale enemy took off, his lengthy legs dashing across the Great Hall.

The thunder outside continued to clap with brutal magnitude, and he wondered if maybe the gods were cheering him on. Draco was now shaking with a mixture of anger and ecstasy. He hadn't felt such a violent range of emotions in months, but

it certainly made him feel more human. The adrenaline was rushing through him, sending his whole body into overdrive.

He was still running, though he wasn't sure where he was headed. He obviously couldn't go back to the dungeons right away, everyone in the green house had seen his beastly battle, and he wasn't ready to face anyone who was questioning his sanity and morality. _For that he had himself, thank you very much._

Draco could barely feel any of the bruises that marked his doll-like face at that moment, he couldn't sense pain or discomfort at all; he was absolutely numb. He just wanted to be alone. He had gotten so used to the solitude of his existence that now it was challenging to spend time with people, especially when he didn't like _anyone_ in that whole damn school.

In a flash of lucidity, or maybe insanity, he changed his direction and ran towards the library. It was past 9pm, no one would be in there for sure, not even the bookworms that infested those old corners. At least he could hide, even if just for a little while.

The library was hauntingly silent. The thunderstorm was drifting away from the castle, less audible with each passing minute. His system was just beginning to recover from the adrenaline, and he sat down, trying to catch his breath again.

His fingers instinctively reached for his lips, tracing them with care. He felt a tear on his bottom lip that stained his translucent skin dark red.

Continuing to pass his fingers over his face, a shiver was sent down his spine when he touched the bridge of his nose: swollen and finally hurting. Not broken though, he knew that scummy arsehole couldn't do that much damage, especially with those sloppy punches of his.

He rolled his eyes. _Ridiculous._ Everything was ridiculous.

He didn't even have his fucking wand, for fuck's sake. How would he heal himself? He was too lazy and too prideful to go see Madam Pomfrey, and he knew right away no one would want to charm him out of the pain. How humiliating.

He would just have to be useless like the muggles and wait for his body to heal itself. Merlin, how he despised his whole existence… He was nothing without his wand, without his parents, without his status.

With a groan of frustration and desperation, Draco got up, deciding to entertain his aching brain with a trip around the empty library. He had always been a fan of reading, but only for himself and for his own enjoyment, just like most things he did. Late night trips to the library were always a gratifying experience, and a great occupation of his time. He had read at least half of those decaying shelves, of that he was sure. It wasn't exactly a secret, just one of those details that no one knew about him. Who would care if he liked books anyway?

The smell of old, torn book pages was inflaming his nostrils, and though it one of the smells he enjoyed the most, inhaling deeply was hurting his deviated nose bridge. Sighing, he continued to roam around, inspecting spines and hoping to see some yet unread books to pick up.

While observing the space around him, he noticed that at the back, right before the entry for the restricted area, there was someone. They were sitting at a table, back arched towards the wooden surface, with a pile of books featuring as lonesome company. Draco slowly advanced towards the student from behind; investigating who it was before he got any closer.

Brown, messy curly hair grasped his attention, and a familiar sound echoed through the deserted library: pencil taping against the table, and legs swinging nervously, hitting the chair rhythmically.

"No fucking way." He chuckled, quite amused.

 _Granger._ He could bet his entire life that it was her who was sitting, still studying, still miserable, and still with that laughable good girl attitude. This was his chance to win back some of his pride by devouring her endlessly with insults. The confrontation was just he was craving, just what he needed. His tongue was already itching to say something…

"Hey, Granger…" he called, holding in a laugh "Still studying, huh? I get it, we both know how hard it is to achieve something when you were born with nothing."

Silence. She didn't twitch or turn around. It was like she didn't even acknowledge his presence. Thankfully for Draco, he was nowhere near giving up, and that only fueled him to continue taunting her, maybe even harder.

"Because you know you will never mount up to anything, Granger." He told her, in a snake like whisper "Because you will never be one of us. You will never be a real wizard."

Still nothing. Draco was confused. Usually a sentence like that and he could've already earned a tear, or at least a furious speechlessness. What changed? "Come on, Granger." He said through grinded teeth "Fight back."

Maybe she put a silent charm around her. It would've been pointless, since no one else was there, but that girl could always manage to do the most pointless shit anyway.

"What the fuck, Granger!" he shouted, coming close enough to hear her breathing and be able to smell her. "Are you fucking deaf or something?"

Still ignoring him.

How he fucking hated being ignored.

He stood tall next to her, on her right side, as he took a deep breath, ready to exhale all the built up anger.

"Stop ignoring me, you filthy _mudblood!"_ He groaned, punching the table with his whole strength, making it rock slightly.

Hermione let out a loud scream, followed by a gasp. She eyed the person next to her and her heart stopped. There was no way. He couldn't be there. That wasn't Draco Malfoy standing next to her. It was impossible. It was surely just a dream.

So how did he look so real…?

"Why aren't you answering me?" he mouthed at her, and she didn't understand. He was mumbling too fast.

"I… I… I…" Hermione stuttered, her heartbeat suddenly picking up its pace. "What-what are you doing… Here?"

"Haven't you heard the news? I study here." He chuckled, obviously amused by her inability to speak properly. "I see that you're still as clueless and dumb as always."

Hermione still couldn't pick up half of what he had just said; she was in a dream-like daze, looking at him with confusion and fear. He looked thinner than what she remembered, his arm and his large, graceful hand rested on her table, far too close for Hermione's taste. She was chewing her bottom lip nervously, completely stuck to her chair. She noticed he had a slight, menacing smile drawn on his lips, and dry blood was staining his chin and cheeks. His nose was also slightly swollen, and his cloudy eyes were piercing right through her, making her scared and uncomfortable. She wondered what happened to him. It was obvious those bruises were from a recent fight between him, and only Merlin knows who else.

Hermione didn't expect to see him ever again; her own conscience subtly reminding her most days that he was probably dead. But he wasn't. He was right there, though he looked more like a spirit or ghost of himself than him, than a real person.

Her chest tightened.

She hated him, for everything he had done and anything he might still do. She was expecting to fight, or to at least say _something_ to show her repulsion towards him, but he had caught her so off guard, she couldn't manage to choke out a single word.

"Wow, Granger," Malfoy continued to laugh, "You're even more hopelessly stupid than I remembered."

Now she was sure she read her name being said on his rough, bloody lips. Still, her throat was dry and words were failing her.

"I…" she stuttered once more, knitting her eyebrows together "Just leave."

 _That's it? Great fucking job, Hermione._

"Feisty." Draco mocked her, finally taking his hand from the table to pass it through his hair.

"The fucking worst." Hermione mumbled under her breath, unsure of what she really meant to say.

Now sufficiently humiliated with herself, Hermione gathered all her belongings quickly and got up to leave, locking eyes one last time with a confused Malfoy.

"You're making no sense, Granger." He huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

There it was again: her name. She felt disgusted. Her tongue was snaking around in her mouth as she thought of what to say.

"Fuck off." Hermione spat out, suddenly proud of herself "Fuck you."

And without even attempting to read his lips to know his response, she turned around and stormed out of the library, her heart pounding and her legs trembling as she clumsily ran back to her dormitory.

Once in the Gryffindor tower, she ignored everyone that was sitting in the common room, and went to her bathroom to wash her face with ice-cold water.

 _Malfoy._

How could he be there?

Then, suddenly, something clicked in her brain: that was what everyone was talking about. He was the big secret she wasn't supposed to know yet; he was the reason everyone was acting so strangely. And by her ridiculous reaction to him just now in the library, she knew she wasn't any different.

For months she had planned what she would say to him if she ever locked eyes with him again, just to let him know how much she hated him, hatred she had never felt towards anyone before, and to tell him how much she despised his unneeded cruelty and vanity…

Yet, when he was standing barely inches away from her, she didn't manage to say any of it.

Right now, she hated herself nearly as much as she hated him.

But things wouldn't stay like that for long. She would no longer be caught off guard. Now that she knew he was there, it was obvious what she had to do. Clearly he hadn't moved on from his childish, violent manners, so why would she move on from her burning hatred?

Still, she couldn't imagine the insults he would come up with once he found out she was deaf. Maybe he already knew. She couldn't be sure, not having understood any of the shit he had already tossed at her during their surprise encounter.

Hermione hitched at the thought of Malfoy using her deafness to his advantage. Anyone else wouldn't do it, but Malfoy wasn't anyone else. He was cruel, ruthless, and vicious. He would do _anything_ to see his favorite _mudblood_ suffer under the touch of his words. Surely he could also use her deafness against her.

Hermione felt frustrated tears well up in her eyes as she reached her bed. Even after everything that had already happened in the last months, Malfoy's return still managed to sting like an open wound.

And though she knew it was just her psyche messing with her, Hermione could swear she felt her _mudblood_ scar tingling and itching at the thought of him.


	4. Chapter 3: Message

**Chapter 3- Message**

When the morning light shun through the dormitory's window, Hermione could've sworn she still hadn't enjoyed a minute of sleep. She rubbed her stingy, blood-shot eyes and turned away from the luminous rays. The thunderstorm of the previous night had left no apparent marks, unlike her devastating encounter with Malfoy, and the sun seemed to be out for the first time in just over two weeks. The glow coming from outside hurt her tired sight, making her hide under the covers, attempting to reconstruct, in an organized way, the thoughts and memories that kept her awake, depriving her of much needed sleep.

For the whole of that night, Hermione could only think of her archenemy. It was useless to direct her mind's attention elsewhere, his menacing smile and dark grey eyes were all she could see. How stupid of her to obsess over someone so unworthy. Though that was entirely true, it was meaningless to try to sleep, knowing that she would awake to the sight of him in the early morning. Quite unfortunately, her first class of the day would be Potions, which was still the only one she had with her Slytherin mates.

Sharing such a small space with his ghostly figure caused her some unwelcomed anxiety. Merlin, she was _not_ ready to face him again. It seemed like the slow-passing hours of darkness had not done a good job of preparing her for the impeding doom. She had hoped it would at least be enough for her to figure to out what she was going to do, but her thoughts were too tangled together to help her construct a worthy idea.

Ever since the battle, anger flooded her blood, her inferior _mudblood_ blood, and words burned her throat and effervesced on her tongue. The frustration was delirious and constant. Her mind was screaming but it seemed she was almost mute, as nothing escaped her rosy lips.

 _I hate you._

 _You have done nothing to deserve a place back at Hogwarts._

 _You're just like your hellish father, arrogant and obsessed with power._

 _And you're a fucking douchebag too._

Her brain continuously circled around these and other sentences alike, and her blood pulsed furiously in her veins, bringing her to a blank, paranoid state of mind. He made her so unnerved; it was nearly impossible to calm down. Just knowing he was inside Hogwarts at that very moment made her knees weak. She wanted to empty the screams lodged inside her lungs. Despite her tense state, she knew that letting him win, or letting him think that she was going to let him walk all over her that year was _not_ an option. That was the most important part; that's what she had to focus on.

And Hermione wanted to stand her ground, she really did, but she couldn't deny or let go of her newfound fragility. It wasn't like she was ever good at confrontation, and Malfoy unfortunately already knew this, but now she was also deaf. How does one have a fulfilling argument with someone when they're fucking deaf? She hardly even spoke these days, how would she find the courage to scream at him?

"Bullocks." She whispered to herself, rolling her eyes.

—

"Harry, I really don't want to talk to you." Hermione cocked her head to right, turning away from him, and he sighed, before tapping her on the shoulder again.

"Hermione, please…" Harry pleaded, as his friend turned to him once more "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you about Malfoy."

"As you should be." Hermione groaned, snapping close her book before racing down the hall, only to be stopped once more by Harry.

"I thought it was best like this." He shrugged, resting one hand on her shoulder. The only good thing about their conversations was that Harry always tried his hardest to make her understand everything he said, even when he knew she didn't want to talk. "You were so upset about him over the summer."

"I appreciate the… Concern." Hermione cleared her throat "But finding out the way I did… Worse."

Harry followed her until they reached their classroom, sitting down next to her, ignoring the slight probability of her not actually wanting him to sit there. He could instantly tell she was anxious: her trembling hands and legs swinging under the table were the main signals, her lip chewing coming as a close third.

She barely even noticed Professor Slughorn entering the room, but when she did, she was slightly relieved that she wouldn't hear shit of what would happen in that class. At least that way she had an excuse to be immersed in her own deadly thoughts, though it was one that never really satisfied her.

" _I know you're bloody pissed with me, but I really thought I was protecting you." Harry wrote, sneaking the note to her in a quick, swift motion._

" _Ginny told me this morning that Ronald was the one Malfoy got in a fight with." Hermione wrote back, and her friend held in a chuckle when he read it; he always found it so amusing when she used their full names to show them she was mad._

" _You know how carried away he gets with his revengeful thoughts…"_

" _I know. But you're still both idiots. And you shouldn't have hid it from me for four days."_

" _You're right, like always. Won't happen again." Harry looked at her, looking for any small sign of forgiveness._

Her expression softened immediately, it was impossible to stay mad at Harry for too long. He slightly moved his hand towards her, tightening the grip. Hermione accepted his gentle move, sighing and slyly hiding a smile.

"Listen, I…" Harry mumbled ungracefully, before pursing his lips and turning to the door, estranging his hand from hers.

It seemed every other student was also suddenly facing that way as well, and Hermione felt her stomach flip. She didn't have to look to know exactly what was going on. Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, a mixture of anger and repulse commanding his shriveling expression. He heard Ron growl something under his breath and was suddenly thankful Hermione couldn't.

Malfoy.

His tall figured filled the doorframe almost completely, standing hesitantly whilst barely making eye contact with anyone, before Slughorn commanded him to sit down. Even that twat of a professor seem to have a tone of haste in his voice, Malfoy noticed, mentally telling him to fuck off.

Hermione was still holding her breath, watching him closely. He sat down next to Zabini, barely attentive to anyone else around him. His face was bruised, just like she thought it would be, and he was focusing his attention solely on his hands. He seemed aloof and distant, traits Hermione recognized and identified with instantly. How utterly shitty it is to have something in common with the enemy…

He slowly turned to Blaise to whisper something, and her stomach twisted. Being in the same classroom as the blonde intruder was already torturous enough, but not being able to hear anything he said kept her even more on edge.

"Is the Weasley rat mumbling all that shit at me?" Malfoy asked his mate, who offered him an annoyed look in response.

"Yeah. You're all anyone can talk about these days."

"And you seem bloody pissed about it." Malfoy arched up his eyebrow, obviously defying his friend. "I guess not much has changed."

"Actually, a _lot_ has changed, Malfoy." Blaise dryly spit out, making Draco swallow back his words.

Though Malfoy hated to admit it, a lot of things did seem different. Draco had always been an easily stimulated person, and even if he didn't show it, he was extremely attentive to details. Every one knew him as detached and uncaring, but he could actually become rather interested and invested in his observations, creating or discovering patterns in others' behaviors. He had many patterns himself, but self-analysis was his least favorite subject. He found that judging others suited him much better. And in just less of a week, he noticed a lot of patterns broken and deranged, causing him some confusion but attracting interest.

For once, everyone around him had a distant glare and seemed to be just as unbothered as him with classes and Hogwarts in general. It was strange. All the other houses had always been endlessly more interested in the school routine than him, yet now, it didn't feel like that at all. In his months of hiding, he'd always figured that everyone would be glad the great evil was finally defeated, and that the ones who carried his mark were either imprisoned or dead; but it seemed to have little effect on their overall moods or actions.

His dark, cloudy eyes wandered to the table behind him and Blaise, on the left side of the classroom. Granger and Potter were sitting, and what a magnificent duo they made.

 _Cringe worthy._

The events of the previous night replayed in his head. Granger had acted beyond the stupidity he expected, which stunned him greatly. What was wrong with her? She was so bloody freakish. Even more so at that moment as he eyed her attentively, noticing she didn't look herself. She was quite passive, barely paying attention to the class, her hand strangely still, resting on her thigh. He could've sworn that that was an impostor sitting there beside Potter, and the actual annoyingly overachiever she had always been, was locked away somewhere else. It seemed that no one else thought it was odd though, which only enticed him to find out more. If there was something he'd missed, he would naturally like to discover what it was… O _nly so he could make fun of her more, of course._

"Hey, Zabini," Malfoy called in a whisper "What made Granger go full mental?"

"What?" Blaise replied in confusion, taking a quick glance at Hermione, then back to Malfoy.

"She's bloody mental now. Found her yesterday at the library and she was so fucking weird. Little miss perfect couldn't even speak properly." Draco shrugged, demonstrating a smug twitch in his lips.

"Malfoy, she's deaf." He explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? No." Malfoy shook his head. That was ridiculous. Certainly he was only pulling a joke on him. "Don't lie to me, Zabini."

"I'm not." Blaise simply said, his face as serious as it could've been "Death eaters attacked her during the battle, I think. She's completely deaf now, mate, has been ever since."

"But… But that's impossible." Draco stuttered, his chest suddenly tightening in discomfort.

"Can't believe you didn't figure it out." Blaise stated, cocking up his eyebrows "But I am expecting even you to have some fucking decency about this and not mess with her. Just don't speak to her again, all right? That's what all of us have been doing anyway."

Malfoy was dumb silent. His heart picked up its pace, and he remembered his strange encounter with her once more.

" _Are you fucking deaf?"_

Holy shit, he'd actually said that to her.

Oh fucking shit. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

Well, he didn't actually know she was deaf, for fuck's sake…

 _If he had known…_

 **No.** Even if he had known, nothing would've been different. They were natural born enemies; it was in their biology, their anatomy, and most damning and dooming of all, in their blood. Nothing would change. So what if she was deaf now? That only meant she was even more pathetic than before, and that her inferiority was now beaming out of her like neon in the dark; obvious and impossible to ignore.

It sure would make it more challenging for him to mock her though, since she couldn't actually hear him. Thankfully, Malfoy adored challenges…

Hermione on the other hand, was rigid and slightly panicking in her seat. She could feel Malfoy's eyes burn through her for most of the class, probably planning his next round of insults and verbal attacks. She was determined to get to him first though. All class she had thought, again and again, of what she would say, and this time she wouldn't fail. If he wanted a fight, he would get one. If he wanted to dart her with insults, she would have to shield and defend herself as well.

—

"Hermione, are you coming?" Harry asked at the end of class, while lazily packing up his books.

"No, I need to talk to the professor." Hermione lied in a short, barely understandable sentence, knowing she could no longer enunciate 'Slughorn' like a normal, hearing person.

"Let's just meet in Charms then." Harry offered her a smile and Hermione gave a sincere, though nervous one in return.

"See you later, Hermione." Ron waved too, a rare smile blooming on his lips.

Hermione nodded with a happy expression in return. Any time Ron demonstrated any sign of happiness or closed in the rebellious distance between them, Hermione couldn't help but enjoy a few seconds of bliss and normality.

Her eyes followed her friends until they left the classroom at last. Every other student had already gotten out as well, except for Malfoy, who coincidentally, but also thankfully, had stayed behind just like her. She felt a nervous tremble in her throat as she turned to his table, walking with fake confidence towards him.

He watched her approach him unexpectedly, and sat back down, immediately caught off guard.

"Malfoy." She cleared her throat, trying to get rid of her probably already shaky voice "You shouldn't have come back."

A silent pause settled between them, just as Malfoy stared at her with a puzzled look riddled on his face.

"You're selfish and…" She hesitated, her mind completely blank. Words were failing her again.

"Any problem, Granger?" He said slowly, obviously amused by the situation.

"Evil. You're evil." She clumsily mumbled, lifting her thin index finger and pointing it to him. Fuck, it was harder than she had anticipated. "I… Hate you."

"It's mutual." Malfoy replied slowly, enunciating every syllable as clearly as his swollen lips allowed "Anything thing else?"

Hermione sensed herself beginning to break down again. How was he doing this? She felt so useless and utterly powerless around him, it was sickening. Before she could show any more signs of weakness, she decided to end their conversation right there.

"Fuck." Hermione mumbled again, before turning around and racing out of the classroom.

"Well, that went well." Draco sighed, torn if he should laugh at her pathetic second attempt to tell him off, or actually offer her some well-deserved pity.

Definitely laugh though; he had to stay true to his maleficent character.

 _Absolutely humiliated for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. How fucking great._ Frustration was still thundering inside her. She was mad at him for making her feel so small and like such an idiot, and mad at herself for allowing him to do so. That whole situation was maddening, especially when she realized that her Gryffindor tenacity would continue to cling to her mercilessly, no matter how great the embarrassment she felt…

 _Draco Malfoy, this is not over yet._

—

The crisp air became tougher to breathe the closer Draco got to McGonagall's office. She had marked a said 'emergency meeting' a few hours before, and his will to attend it was dangerously low. He was sure it was going to be just useless, intimidating, backhanded advice; maybe a threat or two about him being expelled for his erratic behavior; and surely a guilt trip through the memories of now dead men. It was surely pointless for him to even go but the hope of maybe receiving a new wand after months of being unable to do magic, was enough to drag his legs through the castle.

Before he could even knock on the old witch's door, it opened itself, and a distant voice told him to enter, despite his body's unwillingness. Inside sat McGonagall, always with the same frowning expression and rigid demeanor. His shoulders tensed at the cold draft of air that danced itself around him, before stepping it carefully.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall sighed in a monotonous tone "I expect you already know what this meeting is about?"

"I have a slight idea." Malfoy smugly replied, sitting down in front of her. "But I think it's best if you explain it."

"Your fight with Mr. Weasley showed little to no growth from your part, and that behavior was and always will be completely unacceptable- "

"But that prick was the one who started it! You saw him throw himself at me like some sort of animal with rabies, I…" Malfoy interrupted frantically, his chest expanding along side his ego.

"Please do not interrupt me, Draco." The witch said in a tired, cracked voice. He cringed that his name being slowly dragged out of her mouth. "I hope you didn't expect to leave this situation unpunished."

"I already got my punishment!" He growled, pointing his finger to his fragile, bruised face. "Look at my fucking face. Without my wand I can't fix it and…"

"In case you have forgotten, there's a very capable nurse at the Hospital Wing. I suggest you pay her a visit if you want to get better. I also suggest you watch your language and your attitude, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall bitterly remarked, making Draco swallow his pride. "Mr. Weasley has already been punished for his erratic behavior, and so now it is only fair that you should also be held accountable for your actions as well."

"Are you going to send me to the fucking Forbidden Forest again?" Malfoy spit out, attempting to recover his position.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you will feel much more relieved and less restrained when you eventually stop fighting your current conditions."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malfoy huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"This is not the same school we all grew to love; some things have changed, and this is the only time frame for adaptation. All of us have suffered and have lost loved ones because of the war. I suggest you try to understand just how much you have in common with everyone else, instead of trying to assert your superiority."

Silence engulfed them. He didn't know what to say. Having something in common with the enemy was unthinkable and unrealistic… At least until now. It was a repulsive thought really, he had absolutely nothing in common with those fucking disgusting Gryffindors, or anybody else for that matter. Nobody even knew where he had been; nobody knew what he'd been through. His mind escaped his self-involved thoughts for a mere second and his lip twitched: _Granger._

"Granger…" Draco whispered, immediately regretting speaking at all. "She's deaf, right?"

"I'm afraid so." McGonagall sadly nodded, slightly confused by the change of topic.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, not wanting to continue that conversation. "What's my punishment after all? I got shit to do after this."

"One month of generous help."

"Excuse me?" the blonde asked in disbelief.

"I believe you have become quite unfamiliar with the Hogwarts grounds, thus the suggestion of making its acquaintance once more. You shall help out Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing for a few days, and maybe you should start that task soon, might as well take care of yourself while you're there… And then the library, and of course, the teachers and students of every year." The Headmistress explained, a small smile appearing on her tired face.

"What a sodding nightmare." Malfoy replied immediately, closing his eyes "When will I get a new wand? This is becoming ridiculous."

"It's being taken care of. But you can't use it during your chores, that's part of your punishment, Mr. Malfoy."

"Whatever." He rolled his stormy eyes, massaging his temples "Can I go now?"

"You may go, yes." McGonagall nodded "A schedule will be given to you quite soon."

Malfoy got up without replying, running his hands through his hair.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy." The old witch called again, and he unwillingly turned to her again. "Take in consideration everything I told you today. You are not the enemy. We would all be much grateful if you could stop trying to fight against all of us who are trying to guide and aid you."

"Compassion is not a part of my nature." He dryly explained, leaving her office with a serious, almost malicious smile. "And I don't need saving or guidance."

What a bunch of bollocks.

Almost a week since he returned to Merlin's hell and still no fucking wand. He was utterly useless without it, had been for endless months now. He was desperately longing for a sense of normality, clinging to the slow demise of his self-worth. The loss of his family meant loss of touch with reality. His existence was abstract, lacking any real definition or dimension. His body was there, physically present, slowly degrading, but his mind was absent. Having escaped a very narrow death the night his parents were untimely struck really ruined him. The Malfoy Manor had become haunted and undeniably dangerous. Draco was suddenly homeless, starving; stuck between the nothingness of today and the illusion that tomorrow would be better. It never was though.

And it wasn't until his fragile, wrecked body felt the soft touch of the mattress the night he arrived that he understood just how little he had left in the world. No more dignity, no more games and no more will to keep surviving. How could he not struggle or fight against his circumstances when they were the ones who fucked him up in the first place? That sodding bitch had no idea what she was talking about, not even she knew what had happened to him. It was all a fucking nightmare, especially after reconsidering what McGonagall had told him… One month of helping out his insufferable teachers and students… What a fucking joke.

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as he reached the dungeons. Blaise greeted him with a simple wave, unbelievably indifferent to his friend's presence. Goyle was chatting with some girl Draco didn't try to recognize, completely avoiding him like he had done all week. Even his Slytherin blokes seem to not care about him, maybe afraid or even revolting against him.

He slid into bed without saying more than three words to everyone else, and thanked Merlin silently, like he did every single night, for finally having a bed again.

—

"Hermione, you're barely eating." Ginny noted, resting one hand on her shoulder.

"Not hungry." Hermione replied, shrugging and pushing her plate away.

"What's wrong? You were bloody restless tonight." Ginny insisted, taking a bite of her toast.

"Nothing." Hermione shook her head "Honest."

Ginny knew something was wrong, her instincts rarely ever failed her, but she had learnt the hard way to not insist too much with Hermione. Bending her too far much out of shape was just a deadly idea that often resulted in her immediate shut down. She looked eager though, anxious even, her brown eyes locked steady on the Great Hall door.

Ron and Harry were discussing the next Quidditch match, with neither paying attention to Hermione, who was quite thankful for them not asking her any other questions about her mood that morning.

A few minutes later, Malfoy entered the Great Hall and quietly sat down, triggering Ron to fire some quick insults under his breath. Any time he saw Malfoy, he couldn't contain the exaggerated anger he felt running through his whole body, and Harry would always have to talk some brutal sense into him, trying to avoid another needless, violent fight.

Hermione missed his entrance though, as she was glancing at Ron's mouth filled with bread, spitting crumbs as he said something she couldn't possibly decipher, probably even if she could still hear. Shaking her head in a disapproving manner, her eyes turned to the ceiling, following a cold draft of air that suddenly chilled the Great Hall. Owls had flown in quite eagerly, though their movements showed coordination and direction. A smile bloomed on her lips as she followed Hedwig's movements, watching it drop an envelope in front of Malfoy.

Malfoy eyed the envelope with suspicion, unaware that anyone would ever care to mail him again. It was impeccably white, and neat handwriting spelled out his name on the top right corner.

"Who's that from?" Blaised intercepted his thoughts, glancing over the envelope with the same expression of surprise and suspicion.

"I don't know, but even if I did, it's none of your business." Malfoy spit out, grabbing the paper and storing it inside his pocket.

"You're a prick." Blaise blatantly told him, returning to his private conversation with Goyle.

"I'm aware." Malfoy nodded, getting up to leave the Great Hall.

Curiosity was eating away his insides, but opening that letter in front of everyone would attract unwanted attention. He sheltered himself in a lonely hallway, enjoying the few minutes of solitude before those corridors became flooded with pupils. He sat in a dusty corner, analyzing the envelope before reading it, tracing the ink letters with his fingers. Opening it with care, he noticed the same neat handwriting filled an entire page of parchment.

 _Dear Draco Malfoy,_

 _I don't think you deserve a space back at Hogwarts after everything you've done. You're immature, irresponsible, and an insecure wizard. You're selfish and your blind hate is suffocating. I utterly regret your existence here._

 _And this is something very out of character for me, to write to someone just to explain how much I despise them, but this is what you do to people: you intoxicate them. Consider me intoxicated as well._

 _I don't think I will be speaking to you ever again; so don't worry about having to come up with insults to strike me with when you read this._

 _Hermione Granger._

"Holy shit." Draco mumbled under his breath, rubbing his temples in a surprised, slightly nervous manner.

—

a/n: Sorry this took a bit longer than the other chapters, but I was travelling and jetlag has been torturing me these days.

I'm not really satisfied with this chapter though, I'll probably edit it soon enough. Tell me what you think! Leave your reviews! :)

Thanks! Rita


	5. Chapter 4: Meeting Place

**Chapter 4- Meeting place**

The sun hid away for another fortnight, immersing Hogwarts in a foggy, suffocating daze. The temperature was rapidly dropping, in a reckless manner, as the cold, November air itched and ate away the color of the students' skin. The days had shortened as well, dark and uninviting, accompanied loyally by the downpour of heavy rain.

There was nothing particularly graceful about those weeks, and nothing particularly exciting or different about them either. Autumn had reached out to embrace Hogwarts, bringing with it the usual lack of light and death of flora. It was merely another season branching its way in; following the natural cycle of life: it was normal.

 _So, why did it feel everything but normal?_

Draco had spent the last few days extremely attentive to his surroundings, hoping to catch a mild shift in the winds, or maybe a burning sensation in his unfortunate dark mark, maybe just a small change of scenery… Basically _anything_ that could explain why everything around him seemed unsettling and wrong. Yet there was nothing.

The rain poured rhythmically every morning and every end of afternoon; and clouds embraced the school ground daily as well, as the wind died down just as fast as it started to hush. There was absolutely no sign of change, no sign of any abnormalities, or at least of no new ones.

He would consider himself oblivious and remarkably stupid if he didn't admit to the obvious transformations that shaped the present. Clearly things were different now. Many had perished, including Voldemort, including his parents, including many he wouldn't ever think of again. Now there was no more evil left roaming around in the magic world, _except maybe him_ , and there was nothing else to fear: the world had returned to its usual state of banality, and with banality came a meaningless routine.

Maybe that was the abnormality: normality.

Draco wasn't accustomed to such a quiet, peaceful pace of life. Times of turbulence had rocked him for as long as he could remember, shaping him to be who he was now, and fear had enjoyed a lifetime of creeping up on him. The devil had never known boundaries, and even in his privileged life, evil forces lurked and allured him and his family. It was both a duty and a curse to pretend not to fear everything he was supposed to be proud of.

A duty that felt effortless at 9 and 10, when innocence and naivety controlled him. An obligatory job that became even easier at 11 and 12, when suddenly, dozens like him surrounded his every day-to-day at Hogwarts. Stuck-up mischiefs that shared not only his imposed ideas, but his blood purity as well.

But from then on out, growth was inevitable, and new thoughts haunted him. It was suddenly a struggle to cling to those unholy traditions he had been taught. It all meant blurred, almost indistinguishable lines, and a crippling doubt between wrong and right.

It suddenly meant a homicidal turned nearly suicidal mission at fresh age sixteen, and a permanent commitment to an ideal he no longer desired to follow. His condition decayed and his integrity continued to crumble apart, right up until he set foot back in Hogwarts. See, salvation seemed to repeatedly come through in the most desperate times, offering to take his tired hand and stray him away from trouble; distancing him from a dark end. Accepting such help meant weakness, but not accepting it meant a twisted death; it was purely a matter of survival: it certainly didn't mean he had to grateful or happy about it.

—

It was Sunday afternoon. Heavy droplets of rain raced down one of the tall windows of the hospital wing. Draco stared down at the squeaky clean, empty white bed, his hands clenched in a tight fist inside his pants' pockets. It was the second Sunday he had spent imprisoned in there, assisting 1st and 2nd years that had broken their bones doing something obviously idiotic. It was pointless. Reorganizing shelves of medicine, by hand, for hours well into the evening was torturous and borderline abusive. The only good that came out of it was that right on his first day of forced work, Madam Pomfrey cured his bruised face (and ego) and he recovered his porcelain-like skin, unblemished and perfect. And well, at least he didn't have to lay around robotically in the dungeons, pierced by stares and struck by rude whispers and inquiries about his well-being. Anything else about those miserable hours was detestable.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing?" a tender voice called his attention, ripping him away from his looming thoughts.

"I'm bored." He raised his head up from the white sheets to find a worried Madam Pomfrey who had her arms folded across her chest. "Bored shitless."

"There's still so much to do before you leave." The elder lady told him "I was just about to tell you that a student fell outside and might have broken her leg. Could you please help bring her in here?"

"For fuck's sake…" He muttered under his breath, tapping his foot against the floor. "Fine."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, I will be waiting for you back here then." Madam Pomfrey nodded, as a cranky Malfoy left the hospital wing.

Rain continued to pour at an unbelievable rhythm, and Draco wondered why any stupid third years would be fucking around outside. Bloody idiots they were. He raced unwillingly through the castle, bracing himself for the thick, cold air that was about to hit him as he approached the courtyard.

Once outside, he immediately noticed the dark haired girl sitting down on the wet grass, and walked towards her, this time without rushing his pace. Much to his own surprise, he was enjoying the sensation of the rain pouring down on him, mentally noting to himself that he should leave the dungeons more often. Any of those days it would have been pointless to leave the interior of the castle, since he had to work any free time he had.

The evening's darkness made it harder for him to see her well, but upon a closer approach, it was obvious that the girl's left leg was twisted in an unnatural manner, which sent a quick shiver down his spine. He had never considered himself a queasy person, but that was not a pretty sight.

He sighed, frustrated. All he had to do was bring her in to the hospital wing and that'd be it, then he could go back to the dungeons and just collapse in exhaustion like he always did.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Draco groaned, feeling around his pockets to realize he didn't have his wand with him. "That stupid fucking old witch."

She was looking at him with a shocked expression, but he decidedly ignored her.

"Did Madam Pomfrey send you to help me?" the girl stuttered.

"Don't talk to me." Draco barked back at her.

Releasing another ugly, hoarse groan, he flexed his arms and picked the student up, much to her surprise, as he cursed even at his own existence. His brain told him to hurry back and his legs happily obliged, trying to avoid anyone seeing him roaming like a bloody idiot in the corridors. He reached the double doors of the hospital wing faster than he thought he would, and threw another curse against the wind.

Madam Pomfrey was already arranging the new bed for the girl, and all the medicine she would probably need was displayed on a metal tray as well. Malfoy let her fall out of his arms in an uncaring manner onto the bed, immediately turning to his captor.

"I'm done. Bloody done. Give me my freaking wand back or I don't even know what I'll do." He panted, stretching his arm out.

"There's no need to get aggressive, Mr. Malfoy." Madam Pomfrey smiled, holding his wand "I appreciate your help, no matter how unwillingly it is given to me."

"How good and humble of you." He huffed sarcastically, snatching his wand out of her old hands. "I'm leaving."

"All right." The elder nurse simply nodded, returning her attention to the student, still in a strange, pain and shock-induced trance. "See you on Wednesday."

—

"Remind me to break his neck next time." Ron whispered to Harry, eyeing his blonde enemy as he snuck into the Great Hall.

"For fuck's sake, Ron." Harry rolled his eyes "Could you stop acting like a fucking raging troll?"

"You know how much he annoys me, mate. If I could just lay my hands on him again…"

"Yes, I'm sure you'd do a great job of assuring another detention to ruin your weekend." Harry interrupted; trying to make sure his best friend wouldn't make another pointless mistake. "Just leave it alone. I thought he might've changed by now, but it's clear he hasn't. Just stop paying attention to him, you know he doesn't deserve it."

"Hermione has been pretty overwhelmed lately." Ron changed the subject, ignoring his mate's advice. "I know it's because of him."

"I noticed." Harry sighed, looking at her empty seat right across the table. "She's angry."

"And she has every damn right to be. She's bloody deaf because of death eaters; because of people like that scummy dickhead. If it were me, I definitely would've lost it by now. She's actually clinging to sanity much better than I thought she would."

"She's holding on but we both know just how far from happy she is. It doesn't even feel like she's the same person anymore."

"It's all his fault, really." Ron shrugged, observing a lonesome Malfoy eating breakfast. "If only he had died when his parents…"

"Ron!" Harry elbowed him, his eyebrows joined together in disgust "That's enough, mate."

"Fine." Ron obliged, arching his back over his nearly empty plate of food.

"Besides, I have a feeling Malfoy will get over his inflated ego and stop acting like this soon." Harry nodded to himself, adjusting his misplaced glasses.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm planning a truce." He arched up his eyebrow, spreading butter over his toast.

"Are you insane?" Ron widened his eyes, rubbing his forehead "Yes. You actually are. Bloody mental I tell you."

"I've always hated Malfoy just as much as you have, but times are different now. I'm tired of this rivalry. Ever since the war, McGonagall has pushed us, though forcefully, towards house unity. And I think I speak for the majority of us when I say that it has felt great to finally admit we're all the same: students who made it through a dark and exhilarating war."

"You sound like Gandhi or something." Ron sighed, remembering the time Hermione gave him a lecture on the most important peaceful political figures of the muggle world.

"I know you agree." Harry added "Just trust me on this, if the plan works, you'll be glad we are giving Malfoy one last chance."

"How many more times are we going to allow him to disappoint and betray us?"

"Just one more time."

—

 _Tuesday night, Astronomy tower_.

Hermione stared at the never-ending dark sky, and infinity seemed to stare right back at her. It hadn't rained all day and after a few long weeks of repetitive, intense showers, the sky had finally cleared up. The only remaining repetitive annoyance was the insomnia that refused to leave Hermione alone. Every other night now she would creep out of the dormitories to wander around the castle, trying to stray way from the loneliness and slight paranoia that shadowed over her. Professor McGonagall had already caught her once or twice, but fortunately didn't seem to mind Hermione's nightly trips. Her maternal and caring instincts always got the best of her when it came to Hermione, and she allowed the hurting student to wander around after hours. It was slightly unfair to the other students, but it was a well-kept secret between them.

That night was no different. It was probably well after midnight when Hermione sat down on the Astronomy Tower's floor. Her chest was heavy with thoughts and the same sorrows of the yesterday and the tomorrow. Ever since her body touched the surface of her bed hours before hand, an overwhelming thought raced through her brain… A memory that was stuck in frame, frozen and out of reach, no matter how desperately hard she tried to reach out to it.

It was a song.

Her mother used to hum it all the time when she was young. It was a devastatingly beautiful song, she had always thought so, but now she couldn't remember it. Some memories were slipping away, as she lost the ability to piece it all together. It was a happy melody but made for a complex emotional response.

"Shit." She rubbed her temples, blinking away the tears she could feel burning in the corner of her eyes.

She missed her mother so much. A mother's love is essential, nurturing and natural. There's nothing you can add to it, nothing that can compare. Without it, no soul is intact or complete. Needless to say, Hermione felt incomplete. It took months, but she now realized that her world had begun crumbling down long before she lost her hearing. The day she obliviated her parents was the moment everything changed. With such an excruciating mission came the hideous outcome of now being without a family; without a place outside the wizarding world. Identity shattered. Memories locked away, some even lost forever.

 _But the song: How did it go? Something about the sun. The sun…_

It was ridiculous. For most of the times she could remember voices and songs if she tried hard enough. It didn't come to her that easily, but it was possible. Sometimes she would read Harry's notes in his voice, and it was calming. And sometimes she could still hum a lullaby or a popular song that had one time gotten stuck in her head. But now, her favorite song, her mother's favorite song, she couldn't remember. How stupid of her. The brain can be so fucking cruel.

—

Complete darkness. A sense of desperation that pumped blood loudly to his head and ears. A hand slowly reaching out, and a shaky limb attempting to grab it. Time was indefinable and the emptiness was eating his fading body away. A deafening scream pierced through space, and droplets of sweat began forming. His legs lost control. He was falling. Falling into the nothingness. His heart rocked against his ribcage in an attempt to remind him he was still alive. No use. There was nothing to hold on to anymore. The end was certain.

Draco's eyes shot open as a gasp choked him awake. His lips were dry and quivering, and his body was frozen still, as if he had been petrified.

 _Another nightmare._

His watch was somehow still placed on his wrist as he hastily read the time: 1am. Barely two hours of sleep and he was already awake, and definitely not falling back asleep anytime soon. He was so sick of the insanity brought on by those realistic dreams; sick of the tiredness that came with his fucked up sleep schedule. The only thing to do in times of fear and insecurity like those was simply get out of bed and walk around. Draco did it more often than he probably should, but he had thankfully never crossed paths with another soul on his nightly wanders. He considered it a diversion from his unconscious, though he admitted it wasn't a good one. It only served to remind him of everything that had happened it the last two years. Dreams were dead scary, but the reality was even more frightening. Still, it's better to walk around with your feet firm on the ground than to sink in bed, trying to catch your breath.

It was rare for him to go far away from the Slytherin dungeons, though at that moment, the furthest away from the dormitories, the better. It was an exceptional night, freezing cold, but with a clear sky. Maybe he could sneak into the Astronomy Tower and stay there for a while. Ever since his return to Hogwarts, Draco promised to himself he wouldn't return to that haunted place, yet something about the thought seemed alluring and absolutely necessary. Returning to the scene of the crime was notably a terrible idea, but his brain was pressuring him to go there and relive that dark turning point in his life.

The stairs that lead to the top of the astronomy tower seemed leaner and suffocating, his trembling legs signaling him to stop and turn back. The more steps he took, the more he tried to convince himself that he needed to experience the well deserved peace and solitude in the Astronomy tower. Or so he thought he would.

"No fucking way." Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.

Granger was sitting not too far away from where he was standing, with her back turned to him and her wild hair decorating her frame. He was so fucking unlucky. How likely would it have been for him to run into her in the Astronomy Tower at 1 something am on a Tuesday night? Especially when he had barely caught a glimpse of her over the past two weeks, something maybe strategically planned by her, ever since he got that embarrassing letter. Only Granger would come up with such an exaggerated, polite way of telling him to fuck off. But he guessed she was just overcompensating for being deaf now. Maybe she was trying to take control over some meaningless action to compensate for the lack of control over her disability… For fuck's sake, even in his thoughts he was a dickhead to her; that's just how it worked.

Despite knowing much better, he took a step forward, trying to hear if she was saying anything. Her broken voice could be heard in between hushes of wind, but Draco couldn't understand what she was whispering.

"I'll remember."

Draco's chest tightened. It sounded like she was crying. A deaf, vulnerable and lonely Granger talking to herself… What a tragic scenery. His instincts told him to go and mess with her, get in her head and get his revenge back from that stupid letter, but he couldn't move. The sentiment taking over him was unidentifiable. He wasn't used to ignoring his vicious impulses, yet he forbad himself to say anything or make himself known. Maybe what he was feeling was pity. Well, he had always pitied her for her blood, but this was a different feeling. This time he didn't feel superior, he actually felt like shit as well. Maybe he really felt sorry for her.

 _How unnatural and repulsive._ Draco felt disgusting. He needed to get away from her, from that place, from that feeling.

"The Beatles." She managed to choke out, taking in a deep breath "I just know it."

Draco had no idea what she was mumbling to herself, and he couldn't care less. At that point, even lying in bed, fearful and wide awake, seemed better than listening to another second of Granger crying. It was disturbing, everything about those ill minutes he had just awkwardly spent with her felt wrong. She didn't know he was there, and somehow that made it all even worse.

—

 _Wednesday morning._

"Hermione!" Ron smiled as his friend lazily sat down across from him, hands intertwined in her wild curls. "I haven't seen you at breakfast for a long time. Are you okay?"

Hermione let her eyes wander and study Ron's lips as she absorbed each word he was saying. It was the most interest he had shown in her since the summer, and it felt incredibly satisfying to think that maybe their awkward distance was closing in.

"I've been busy." She shrugged, resting her tired head on her head. "I'm good though. Better."

"That's great to hear." Ron nodded "Really."

"Where's Harry?"

"Hm…" The redhead hummed, as if he was deciding what he should say "With Ginny."

"Oh." Hermione nodded, a slight chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm glad they're doing fine."

Ron noticed Hermione's expression and couldn't help but feel his stomach tie in knots. This was the happiest he had seen her in too long. Rose lips curled up in a relaxed smile, eyes bright and cheeks blushing. A Hermione that was happy, even if only momentarily, and a Hermione that had her soul freed, roaming around the Great Hall, attracting the morning light like a moth to a flame. It was the most heart-warming thing to see his best friend, his greatest life teacher and almost lover, purely happy.

Even if he couldn't admit it was all a platonic sentiment, it was at least pure. He wasn't interested in her in _that_ way anymore, but she had a permanent and prevalent space in his life, and that was something that would never change.

"Me too." Ron replied, stirring away from his inner monologue. "I thought that after the war things would be different for them… But I guess they figured it all out."

Hermione nodded along, unsure if he was still talking about Harry and Ginny.

"They have each other." She continued his train of thought, also unsure if she was really still talking about the couple. "Best way to get over stuff. You know, together."

Ron was amazed. This was the most perfect-sounding speech she had let out in a long time. It was also their longest conversation since the war and the sense of admiration was taking over him. It didn't sound exactly like she used to, you could definitely notice the insecurity and sometimes a strange pitch, but he was so amazed with how well she was doing.

He knew they had always been different. Just being born into the magic world was a very different experience than falling into it. And though Ron hadn't always had the best quality of life, he was quite thankful for everything he had ever had. Despite everything, he just knew he wasn't half as strong as Hermione was. They had both grown together, showed their true potential to each other and to everyone else, but if he had been the one in the arms of the death eaters that day… He knew he wouldn't have dealt with it with such maturity as Hermione did. For that and a million other reasons, he looked up to her. Not because he wasn't enough, but because she always taught him something new. And with a clear string of thoughts, came the realization that he had been fucking stupid to distance himself from her. A mistake he was gladly ready to overwrite with a new chapter.

"Definitely." Ron shuffled his hands through his morning hair, before taking a breath "I know I've been a shitty friend these months…"

"You haven't." Hermione interrupted "I've been shutting people off."

"No, I shouldn't have distanced myself from you like that. You needed a friend and I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry, Hermione, so bloody sorry."

"It's okay." Hermione smiled, blinking away the small tears welling up in her eyes. "You don't have to…"

"I do. It was a stupid thing to do and I'm so done with being the one who broke the group. Forgive me?"

"You didn't break us." Hermione sincerely nodded, watching the happy couple approach their table. "Nothing's changed."

"Hermione!" Both Harry and Ginny called "Long time no see."

"Yeah, sorry about that." She replied, taking a sip of her orange juice before giving Ron a reassuring small smile. "What have you… Been up to?"

"Morning stroll around Hogwarts." Harry awkwardly said, bringing an embarrassing blushing to Ginny's pale complexion and earning an eye roll from Ron. "It's a lovely day."

"I'm sure it is." Ron sarcastically answered "But I think we all would be thankful if you didn't tell us about it."

That Wednesday morning was a strange turning point. It was the most natural interaction any of them had shared since the war. It brought out everything they had longed for: normality and a sense of relaxation. Even after their return to Hogwarts, tension had carved itself into everybody, and at that moment, they were suddenly released. Everything was in place.

"We should really go to class." Ginny sighed, finishing up her toast with jam.

"If McGonagall catches me late one more time…" Ron widened his eyes "I'm a dead wizard."

Hermione could feel words itching at her throat, but she ignored the urge to continue speaking. It had been an overwhelming half an hour of conversation. Having to read everyone's lips and try to catch up at every moment was mentally exhausting. She enjoyed every second of it, but she was tired. Silence would suffice for now.

Harry and Ginny were walking in front of them, hands intertwined, and Ron followed them shortly behind, distracting himself from their displays of affection. He understood by Hermione's closed off expression that she wanted some space, so he let her stay behind.

She had just passed through the Great Hall's grand doors when someone stood in front of her, blocking her way. Her heart picked up the pace, as she looked up to find Draco Malfoy staring her down.

"Get out of my way." Hermione impatiently spat at him, folding her arms across her chest.

"I will. Just wanted to offer you a little advice first." Malfoy slowly spoke, his cold, uninviting grey eyes locked on hers "You really shouldn't wander around alone at night, Granger… You never know what might be lurking in the shadows."

—

a/n: Hey! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I knew I took a long time to update but I still hope it's good! Thank you for the reviews, favorites and follows. I really appreciate it! :)


	6. Chapter 5: Redemption

**Chapter 5- Redemption**

By the glow of the dying light that now struggled to illuminate the library, Draco guessed it was already at least a half past five. All day the sky threatened more rain, possibly even snow as November was nearly ending, giving way to an even less inviting December. He could barely even remember when he had first arrived at the library that afternoon, as his tired eyes were focused solemnly on one particular sight. His forehead was dotted with droplets of sweat, his body feverish and unsteady. It was foolish, unbearably so. He was wasting his time. Yet the more his brain demanded for him to continue his work, the stronger the urge to ignore it became. Draco was in a dream-like haze, which was a refreshing change of pace from his usual excruciating nightmares; and he was completely stuck, just helplessly watching the scene… Watching _her._

Granger was arched over the desk, with messy strands of hair drawn in knots down her back, and her foot tapping incessantly against the wooden floor. It was the third consecutive day he had encountered her whilst working at the library, and it was always the exact same scenario: she arrived shortly after three, sat in her usual table near the restricted area, and read. Read and wrote until her delicate fingers started cramping. It was so vulgar, so supposedly indifferent to him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her. It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing her work beyond her limits, it had been the source of many of his rude remarks over the years, but it was more that something felt a little different. Any other day she would've been mouthing and muttering to herself like a demented person, making almost every student around her cast a silencing charm at their table, but this wasn't any other day. This was the present, the twisted, unwelcoming present. Draco was surprised how many times he still had to remind himself that Granger was indeed deaf; often enough he still confused her for the lonely, overachieving pain he had always considered her to be.

Now she was exposed, constantly. Stripped of her hearing, and probably of any lasting sense of security that was somehow still hanging by a thin thread. It was an anomaly. Draco detested anomalies. Patterns were safe and predictability was essential and very well liked. He hated acquiring knowledge about her, but he couldn't help it. Every day he noticed another detail about her body and about how she functioned. It was infuriating how much space in his brain was now occupied with annoying, useless information about her.

The slight twitch of her hand when she put down her quill after writing for too long, the constant chewing of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows when she didn't understand a question and the slight curve of her mouth when she finally did…

 _All shit. Everything was shit._

Most times Hermione didn't even notice him, especially if she was completely immersed in her own world, as she often was, but some times she wondered why his ashy irises lingered on her when he passed by. Not that she cared though, she was so unbelievably far from giving a shit about him, but nonetheless she was curious. It seemed that he had given up on trying to distress her, staying silent whenever they shared any type of space together, whether it was classes, or just casually around the castle.

It actually seemed that he had lately given up on distressing anybody else, for that matter. Hermione wondered what made his change his mind. People around him were still quite reluctant and untrusting, though the tension had apparently been much less prominent in comparison to his arrival. She was sure it wasn't her semi-aggressive letter that did the trick, and it seemed unlikely that it had been Professor McGonagall's punishment either, so it was only natural for her to wonder. Maybe he had finally realized that he was the one that was wrong all this time, nearly eight years to be exact. Ever since they had come to Hogwarts, Draco had never been anything short of rude and, well, evil. Maybe now he figured out every one around him was only trying to help him, and that even now, when most people (including her) had lost their complete hope on him, there were still those willingly to help guide him.

It seemed rather pointless, in her modest opinion, but it also seemed pointless to learn silent spells, and now it was proving to be extremely helpful. Either way, she would much rather stay as far way from him as Hogwarts allowed. Malfoy had always meant trouble, and that would certainly never change.

At the exact moment Hermione snapped one of her books shut, Draco widened his eyes and finally turned around, fearful she would notice he was there. Since she came in that afternoon, at three sharp this time, Draco stayed purposely out of her sight, slightly enjoying the fact she couldn't hear his loud, accelerated breathing or his clumsy limbs as he moved back and forth behind the tall shelves. He tightened his grip on the dirty cloth he was holding, the one he had been using to muggle-clean the books that covered every inch of that annoyingly large library, and let out a heavy breath.

Before she could open another book and begin round two or three of her study marathon, Draco felt his own legs trick him into walking towards her, though he wasn't sure what for. He had no idea what he would actually say when he got there…

"Granger." He exhaled, after holding his breath for a dangerously long time, and took the seat in front of her.

"Merlin, you scared me!" She growled, annoyed and breathless, not even fully aware that it was indeed Malfoy sitting across from her "Oh, it's _you_."

"Gladly so." Draco simply replied, resting his head on his hand, glad he could now observe her from much closer.

"Are you?" She asked, intrigued "Are you glad that you're you?"

"Most times." He shrugged, obviously lying to himself, even though he desperately wanted both of them to believe in it.

"If I had your cons-cience…" Hermione stuttered, slightly stuck on the word "I wouldn't be."

"Just as well." Draco slowly mouthed, making sure she understood before proceeding "I don't have one."

"What a shock." She rolled her brown eyes, with a bored expression "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco noticed that even though she was pretending to be unbothered, she was already engaged in their exchange, interested even. Her glazing eyes followed each of his movements, no matter how delicate or low-key, as if they were the only way of understanding him; in a fucked up sense, they really were.

"Answers." Draco said after a long pause, a half-smile printing on his smug, pale face.

"I have nothing to say to you." Hermione shook her head disapprovingly, catching a strand of hair that was falling on her face and tucking it delicately behind her ear.

"Consider me intrigued, Granger." He hummed in a low voice, avoiding any unwanted attention from the other students. "Seeing you stripped away from all your Gryffindor pride and glory… It's refreshing to say the least."

Hermione's brain wired a million different responses, but no words or even sound left her mouth. What kind of game was he trying to play now? He was surely attempting to trick her into admitting defeat and insecurity, but she knew much better than to give him what he wanted.

"I am _not_ stripped off anything, I am still the exact same person…" She argued, ignoring the rolls of her tongue as she spoke.

"You're not." Draco interrupted brutally, lifting his head from his hand and intertwining his long fingers. "We both know that."

Again, she was stuck. Speechless. She couldn't think of any other occasion where they had had such a civilized conversation, especially without insults or references to her filthy blood. These mind games of his weren't exactly the best alternative, given all the tension that hovered over at that moment, but at least it was something new. Still, she had had little to not practice when it came to dealing with Malfoy beyond arguments and sharp tongues.

It felt strange. Beyond strange, even. If Ron had been there, listening to that conversation, she was sure he would've said they were both _"Bloody mental"…_ And Merlin, he would've been right.

"It's exciting to see you not fit your house aesthetic anymore. Gryffindor never suited you anyway." He brought his face closer to hers, and she shifted uncomfortable in her seat.

"I will ask you one more time." Hermione said, letting out an impatient sigh "What do you want?"

"I already told you." He shrugged, like she hadn't been paying attention "Answers."

"What could you possibly have to ask me?" She huffed, now obviously bothered.

Draco arched up his eyebrow, his stomach twisting as he remembered that night, specifically the image of Granger curled up, crying incessantly.

"What were you doing in the Astronomy tower last week?" He asked, also shifting in his chair, shuffling away those memories as rapidly as possible.

"Is that what this is all about?" She laughed, quite louder than what she probably planned, "You're pathetic."

"I'm simply curious."

"What were _you_ doing there, then?" Hermione mimicked his eyebrow raise "I'm curious as well."

"Couldn't sleep." He mouthed, without any significant facial expression.

Hermione wasn't sure why that answer made her so uncomfortable. Maybe because of how honest it was. There wasn't a shadow of doubt in her mind that he wasn't lying, and she definitely didn't expect that.

The light outside grew dimmer and dimmer, before the skies eventually turned a heavy blue color and the library became illuminated with small lamps and candles that she could eye far way on Madam Pince's desk. Hermione was moving around in her chair, uncomfortable and with her robes sticking against her sweaty skin. For someone who had always such a quick, quite fiery tongue, she now seemed slow and calculating, as if nothing she could say would catch him off guard, like he had done to her way too many times already.

"Okay." She nodded, unsure. "Me neither."

"You know, I've been resistant to the thought that any slimy Gryffindor and I could share any similarities… Especially you… But I have to admit, it rather seems that way, don't you think?" Draco shrugged once more, still not daring to look away from her. He was too invested now, enjoying the fire he was slowly creating.

"You and I don't share anything." Hermione rolled her eyes, tapping her foot against the floor in a fast pace "I will _never_ be like you!"

"Give it time, Granger." He said, curling his lips into a smirk.

"I won't change." She nodded to herself, decidedly "And neither will you."

"Maybe."

"Certainly." Hermione exhaled, unwilling to ever show defeat.

"Doesn't it bother you how insanely wrong you often are?" Draco rubbed his temples, pretending to be annoyed.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, almost offended.

"Never."

Malfoy sighed, rolling up the sleeves of his robes. She always faked security in herself, even if not all of it, and he could see right through her performance. It was all overcompensation, he thought, for how insecure she was now. Her circumstances weren't easy, even an uncaring bloke like him knew that, yet she insisted on pretending to be this one-dimensional, know-it-all character. He knew there was much more depth to her, it was only a matter of timing and strategies to get it all out of her.

"You shouldn't be out there at night. Darkness will make you do some fucked up things." He warned, ignoring her stubborn remarks.

"Like being a creep and stalking other people?" Hermione replied, earning a small laugh of shock out of him.

"Witty." He nodded, with a nod of approval "But I'm serious. It's not safe."

Hermione noticed the creases around his eyes, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips closely pursed, as if he was attempting to stop himself from saying anything more. She wondered what else he could possibly have to say, but cleared those thoughts away, before saying the only thing that remained in her mind.

"You being here is the only thing not safe."

"I'm really not the monster you make me to be…" Draco smiled, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation.

"You're worst." She insisted, still chewing on her lips in a nervous manner.

Hermione was too rattled to realize this had been the longest and most understandable conversation she had had with anyone since becoming deaf. His mouth was delicate, despite all the utter malicious activities he used it for, and it was almost like she could read his mind as he was talking, something that she didn't think was even possible, and something that didn't happen with anybody else. It was so unfair. With her best friends she had to exchange notes and put so much effort to keep up in a conversation; and with _him_ , it was dead easy. His lips curved the words so perfectly, it almost as if she was watching a film with subtitles on… So effortless. Of course Professor McGonagall's help was playing a part in that bizarre mess, but it was something else too, and she couldn't possibly put her finger on it.

"You never would've talked to me before…" Hermione breathed out, unsure why she was bringing that up. "Without insulting me, I mean."

"You're interesting now." Malfoy admitted, separating his fingers and running them through his icy blonde hair.

"Well, I am _not_ your little puzzle." She spit out angrily "I don't give a fuck if you're bored because you have no friends. I never liked you; that won't change."

Draco smiled innocently "I don't care."

"If you don't care, stop annoying me and leave me the hell alone." Hermione nearly yelled, temperamental and impatient, attempting to catch her breath.

Draco crossed his legs underneath the table, lightly brushing his left leg against her robes. They both stayed quiet for a while, recovering from their heated discussion and planning their next move. He was sure she couldn't see through him, he had more experience in the pretending game than she did, and he noticed that a perplexed, confused expression still weighed around her dark eyes and her swollen, chewed lips were trapped between her teeth. It was obvious she was nervous, excited maybe…

He knew he definitely was.

That impulsive decision to just approach her like that had much more meaning than what Draco was willing to admit. It wasn't all about annoying her, though it was quite a great bonus, it was more about uncovering her dark side. It was a prompt intriguing enough to make him want to talk to her, beyond the usual standards of short, offensive conversations, and it was slowly becoming more appealing and attractive.

"You know that's not what you want." He argued, rubbing the back of his neck "You want someone to care."

Hermione fell silent once more, observing his lips with great anticipation and tapping her fingers against the wooden table.

"You want people to look up to you again." Draco continued slowly "You miss people looking out for you; genuinely caring, not just because you're deaf…"

He knew he was hitting a nerve, and his insides were tingling with contentment and a sense of accomplishment. Even though he was proud, mentioning she was deaf brought an unwanted shiver to his skin, making the hair at the back of his neck stand up.

"You want them to care again; even that ginger beast doesn't give a…"

"Don't you dare speak of Ron that way!" Hermione barked at him, tears scratching her eyes.

"The point is…" Draco cleared his throat "You're alone; or at least you think you are."

"I…" she tried to talk, but decided to swallow all her words instead.

"But the truth is Granger, you're not as isolated as you think." Draco explained, his chest tightening with his inflating ego.

"You honestly think you can bully me and scare me into enjoying your company?" Hermione laughed ironically, blinking away any lasting hints of tears.

"It's eight years in the making." He smirked "If not now, never."

"Never then." She instantly replied, clicking her tongue rudely.

"I can't scare you into enjoying my company…" Draco repeated, slowly getting up from his chair "But I assure you, you will end up wanting it."

And with that, Draco left her (finally) alone. Hermione observed him straying further and further away, until he reached Madam Pince and asked for his wand back. The library doors closed in what seemed like a quick heartbeat, and just like that, he was gone, without even looking back.

She was confused, appalled, like it had all been a blurry hallucination of hers and as if he had never even been there. Her heart was beating savagely against her ribcage, with blood pumping to her ears and heat waves spreading through her whole body, making her sweat even more.

He was mad. Utterly mad. _Bloody mental indeed._ Nothing he said made any sense to her, even though she had understood everything he said. He was sick, surely. Hinting that he had tormented her all these years for such a superficial reason as company? She had fucking _mudblood_ carved eternally in her skin, unforgivably engraved in her mind, all because a lonesome Malfoy needed company? It was out of this world, out of the universe. Surreal. Hermione felt her stomach twist in tight knots. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ that would ever make her want to be anywhere close to him. He could try to cheat her into believing he had changed, but it was useless, she would never be able to look at him and feel anything other than disappointment and bitterness.

Somehow, the more she thought about everything that had just happened, the less sense it all made. One thing was for sure though: that was the last time she would be studying at the library. With a lightning quick decision, Hermione clumsily gathered all her belongings, and raced out of the library, giving a force smile to Madam Prince before heading out to the Gryffindor Tower.

The Common Room was warm and accommodating, exactly what Hermione needed to concentrate on finishing her Arithmancy homework. The fireplace was blazing gloriously, as students chatted and read on the sofas around it. Neither Harry nor Ron were around, though Hermione caught Neville in the corner of her eye, sitting down with a piece of parchment in front of him, eyeing it intensely, as if his life depended on it.

Realizing she was too shaken up to get any more work done, and intensely craving some normality and grounded conversations, Hermione approached Neville, looking down at his parchment with a kind expression.

"What are you writing, Neville?" She asked, arching over closer to him.

"Oh, hey Hermione!" He half-smiled, looking slightly troubled "I'm writing a letter."

"Hm…" Hermione hummed "To whom?"

"Nature." Neville nodded to himself, seemingly lost in context as well.

Hermione chuckled, before gently resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Is everything all right, Neville?"

"It's just Luna…" Neville sighed, lifting his head to look at Hermione "She says I need to be more in touch with nature."

Quite honestly, Hermione didn't get nearly half of that sentence, though she understood it regarded Luna and her… Unique views on the world. That only really added fire to her frustration: she couldn't grasp most of what her friends talked to her about, but she could comprehend everything when it came to him…

"But you and herbology." Hermione said, shaking away other, less important thoughts. "You love nature."

"Yes, but I don't _understand_ it…" Neville admitted, a smile suddenly appearing on his face "Apparently."

"I'm sure you'll get there, Neville." She held in a laugh "By the way, have you seen Harry or Ron anywhere?"

"No, sorry." He clumsily shook his head "I was in the garden with Luna all afternoon."

"Quite dreamy." Hermione added with a smile creeping out on her face, before heading to the dormitories to get ready for dinner.

Hermione only noticed it was already December when the first snowfall enchanted Hogwarts, leaving the grounds an impeccable hue of soft white. Snowfall before Christmas was one of nature's most beautiful habits, and this year, Hermione was more grateful than ever for the pure, romantic sight that calmed and eased her soul immensely. It was nearly ten times more calming than seeing the sun rise after a rough night, and for the entirety of the first week of December, she couldn't take her eyes off of the windows, spending hours upon hours just taking it all in. It was quite foolish how much she had come to depend on the scenery around her, but it one of her mind's mechanisms to cope with all the recent changes in her life.

Despite her rather peaceful existence in that last week of the term, Ron would take time to daily bombard her with same question, over and over again. Every day he would invite her to spend Christmas at the Burrow, and every day, she would politely decline.

"My mom is already expecting you…" He would tell her, trying to guilt her into accepting his offer "She probably already made a jumper for you!"

Hermione didn't have anything against spending time at the Burrow, it was a safe place where she had spent some really great times, including that same summer, but this time she couldn't imagine herself enjoying it. The dynamic within the family had changed a lot ever since the war, and she couldn't deny the empty feeling that came with watching them live their day-to-day life.

Every time she came face to face with George, her heart nearly stopped and she swore she always noticed an extra, unidentified shadow following him around. It was heart breaking beyond words to see him alone, and just imagining the magnified sentiment his own family felt in sensing the same loneliness she did… It was enough to make her rather stay at the castle. Besides that, she always felt like most of the Weasley family was walking on eggshells around her, trying not to tick her off or accidentally make her cry. They were bursting with good intentions, she had never doubted that, but that two-way pity they felt for each other was insufferable. Of course she couldn't admit any of this to Ron, he was still mourning his loss (and unfortunately seemed no nearer to closure), so she would just stick to her usual excuses.

"I have so much homework to do." She often explained, "And I'd rather stay here and keep Hagrid company."

Though that was partially true, Hermione still enjoyed Hagrid's company greatly, there were other reasons weighing her towards spending Christmas at Hogwarts. For once, this would be the first Christmas she would live through without her parents. Not physically, she had spent many holidays at the castle without them, but the first one where she would she was actually alone. They were still out there somewhere (hopefully), without any idea they had a child, especially a magical one for that matter. Hermione had yet to convince herself again to look for them, since courage always failed her when she most needed it. It was a rather stupid insecurity, all the signs pointed towards lasting peace, but she still wasn't sure if it would be safe for them. Yes, evil and Voldemort were defeated, thank Merlin, but what if? It would be insensible to bring them back into her life for as selfish of reason as her need of comfort, and she knew that if it ever came down to it, she would never able to let them go again. Besides, even though she could charm them back into a normal state, she would still have to explain to them what happened to her, and giving them that burden just didn't seem like the most sensible and logical option.

"I'm staying, Ron." Hermione assured him on the last day of school, a few hours before him and Harry were supposed to leave. "Enjoy your Christmas, and tell your mother thank you for the lovely gifts."

"Hermione, are you really sure you would like to stay?" Harry pulled her aside, asking her once more ever so patiently "If it weren't for Ginny, I would stay as well."

"Don't be silly." She protested, bringing him in for a hug "It's your first Christmas together, officially at least. Make it special."

Harry didn't feel the need to say anything more, though his chest was heavy with guilt, as if he wasn't being a good friend by leaving her at Hogwarts. But if there was one thing he had learnt over the years, was to never force Hermione into anything. She was intelligent and independent enough to know what she wanted and what she needed.

"I'll miss you, guys." Hermione admitted, watching them leave the Common Room with their bags neatly packed (with her help, of course). "Write to me?"

"Of course." They both nodded, each giving her a hug "Try not to drown in Arithmancy…" Ron sarcastically added, before turning around and opening and sliding through the portrait to the hall.

With their departure came a slight numbness and loneliness Hermione wasn't exactly expecting. Most students seemed to have left Hogwarts to spend the holidays with their family, though a great amount of students had stayed behind as well. Many of them shared circumstances with Hermione: broken families because of the war, a slight fear of leaving the safe space of the castle grounds, and many other reasons she would never truly know. The Gryffindor common room had vacated significantly since the beginning of the term break, and it seemed like there was a lot more space to breathe and work. Most of her dormitory was empty, and that was something Hermione was actually happy about, since she usually felt guilty about waking up the other girls when she couldn't sleep, mostly when she took showers at unholy hours of the night, or when she used to sneak away to the Astronomy Tower…

Blaise moved slowly around the dungeons, packing his bag without a hurry in the world. Draco observed him from the comfort of his bed, with his ashy eyes narrowed and mouth twitching slightly.

"Can you shove off or…" Blaise ironically called his attention, shrugging with arrogance.

"I can but I won't." Malfoy nodded, unbothered and unwillingly to collaborate. "Zabini, what the hell are The Beatles?"

"A shitty, old muggle band. Completely irrelevant." He answered in a fast rhythm, before he could question Draco's intentions. "Why?"

 _A muggle band… Now it made sense._

"Nothing that would interest you." Draco casually said, toying with the sleeves of his robes.

"You're definitely right about that." Blaise chuckled to himself, obviously finding his own answer rather amusing.

"Running away for the holidays? Classy." The blonde Slytherin mocked, shifting positions in his bed.

"It's what happens when you actually have somewhere to go." Zabini attacked, making his clothes fly across the room and pack themselves inside his suitcase. "Enjoy your stay."

"Merry Christmas, you asshole." Draco mumbled under his breath, watching him cast another charm that had his suitcase levitating out of the dormitory, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It was true, he really didn't have anywhere to go outside of the grounds, but it was still a low blow of Zabini to mention it.

What he noticed with the hours that followed, with a sense of disappointment, was that most Slytherin students decided to stay for Christmas, though most of them were probably not by choice. The dungeons were slightly less crowded, but it was clear the majority of them were still there.

Draco guessed it was mostly for the same reasons as him, but he didn't dare or actually have the interest to ask anyone about it. His own parents were dead and buried somewhere he'd rather forget, and he knew of a good amount of death eaters with kids at Hogwarts. And since rumor had it that nobody in that category had survived the post-war revenge attacks, it was no surprise a lot of students were now parentless like him. Besides, he also knew of a lot of people that just had never returned to Hogwarts, maybe by shame or fear. Thankfully, Draco had learnt on his own to not have either.

And even though Draco expected absolutely nothing out of that Christmas (he had never been keen on it anyway), something told him it would be a lot more interesting than the boredom he was anticipating. Especially if a certain stubborn witch had been left behind as well…


End file.
